The Stalker in the Stone
by TheModernLeper
Summary: Bones finds herself the victim of a stalker. He is devoted, worshiping, and willing to do anything to prove his loyalty. Can Booth keep her safe while trying to find the killer?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Well it's been a while since I've done a story so I may be a little rusty. I'm sticking with Bones because that's just a show that gives me endless ideas. The seed of my story came from the show's idea of Brennan having a stalker. I'm taking that stalker point and running with it. Let's see where it goes because I've got know friggin idea where I'm going with this. As always, the characters are not mine in the slightest, only the story.

**When Booth's black SUV pulled up to the crime scene, Bones and her team were already unloading their equipment. He didn't know what he was walking into, only that the chief had described the scene as one of the creepiest things he had scene in his entire life. This coming from a guy who'd been through Vietnam…Booth was bracing himself. **

**The sight was along the riverside, and had been called by a man who had been out for his morning jog. The only reason the man caught the body was the fact that he glanced down as he ran over it. Perhaps body is the wrong word. Body implies flesh and form. The man had run over bones, and they looked nothing like a skeleton should.**

**Booth walked over to the crouched figure on the sidewalk. Her hair pulled back in a professional looking bun, and giving off an air of power, he could recognize Bones from 100 feet away. His attention was drawn away from her only when he saw what had given the chief had describes as "the willies." The bones were not the first thing you noticed when you looked at the ground. It was the message that the bones formed that drew you in. The message was short, cryptic, and powerful: **_**MY LIFE FOR YOU.**_

__**Underneath the message the victim's teeth had been placed into the form of a grin even the Cheshire cat would envy. The two O's were formed by the victim's eye sockets, presumably having been sawed out of the original skull. The rest of the skull had likely been broken apart carefully and made to help form the rest of the message.**

"**Holy crap," Booth breathed, putting weight into each syllable. He had seen gross, he had seen violent, but this was just plain weird. This was Stephen King status creepy. **

"**I concur," said Brennan, who stood and straightened herself as she looked up at the sky. It was only around 8 in the morning but already the day was threatening record heat. A humidity hung in the air. DC in the summer meant air so thick you could practically drown in it. "We need to get the bones back to the Jeffersonian but I don't want to disturb the message. We may not be able to reassemble it."**

**"I'll get a team to dig down into the slab and pull the whole thing up. No worries," Booth hadn't taken his eyes of the message. There was a puzzled expression on his face that was often reserved for listening to conversations between Hodgins and Brennan. "Who's it for? It's in some seemingly random sidewalk in the outskirts of DC. Anybody could have found it. Why here? Why now?"**

**Bones thought those were damned fine questions, though she didn't say so. Booth didn't need a pat on the back, he needed answers. He crouched down to look the bones closer. Then he saw something that jolted him. He shot up straight and had the look of a man who had just witnessed something he could have enjoyed his whole life without seeing. "Oh no," he let out, just loud enough for Bones to hear him.**

"**What? What is it Booth?" she asked out of curiosity and frustration. Something about him having spotted something in the bones that she could have missed rubbed her the wrong way, ashamed as she was to admit it.**

"**Bones, you remember those sapphire earrings you thought you'd lost at that Governor's Ball last month?"**

"**Yes, of course."**

"**Well I think I just found them," he replied his finger pointing back and forth to the two O's in the message. Bones squatted down and removed her goggles for a clearer view. She then saw what Booth had meant, what had shaken him so much. She found two small sapphires cut in the shape of hearts staring back at her, replacing the eyes that once rested there. **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: OK this isn't the most exciting of chapters, but every story needs some degree of set up. And yes, my story includes Zach as if he'd never left, because isn''t that how it should be? Reviews are great and appreciated.**

"No, no, no. A thousand times no," Booth was fighting a losing battle. "You are not on this case. Some psycho is out there making human sacrifices in your honor. That's way more involved than I wanted you in the case on the first place."

Bones sighed. "First off, there's only been one sacrifice, singular. And secondly, if this does become a habit of his, who better to investigate and stop him than the person he's after?"

"Oh, because one sacrifice is so much less scandalous than two. And murder isn't a habit, it's sick and violent act. You know what else is sick? This dude is close to you. He managed to get your earrings off at the ball without you noticing. He committed a crime that he knew you would end up investigating. He wants _you_." There was something about that thought that chilled Booth to his very core. He just wished Temperance would get it.

They were unloading the cement block at the Jeffersonian, and Bones wasn't backing off the investigation.

"Whoa," said Hodgins, "This is eight different kinds of creepy right here." He was antsy to get into the cement. A hard block that people walked over everyday was so much more to him. It had its own contents, concentrations, and signature. He could probably learn more about the cement than the team could learn about the skeleton in a matter of minutes. Angela was eyeing the message with a frustrated look on her face."Hon, I can't do much with this," her brow drew together in frustration, "The skull's been broken into too many pieces for me to base a sketch off. Maybe if you can reconstruct it I'd have a shot."

"Well get the bones out as soon as we get pictures from every angle. Once it's apart I don't think we could get it back to it's original position, and we don't know if there is anything particularly special about their pattern."

The bones weren't just slapped together to form their words. They were cracked an formed in precise places, forming each letter flawlessly, like stone broken into a mosaic of a grander picture.

"Why his?" asked Booth, seemingly out of nowhere.

"I'm sorry?" replied Bones, confused.

"You said 'habit of his'. Are we certain this is a man doing this?"

"Yes," was the reply he got not only from Bones, but from Cam, Angela, and Zach as well.

"Statistically speaking, females are more likely to have male stalkers, and vice versa," Zach stepped up to explain. "The message itself, specifically with it's adornment of earrings, is one of devotion, and possibly love."

"What ever happened to candy and chocolates?" mumbled Booth.

"Don't we need a bit more evidence before we label him a stalker? What if this is his only act? What if he doesn't do it again?" asked Angela.

"Stalkers aren't defined by the number gifts they leave their victims, or how many items of their jewelry they steal. And in most cases, stalkers aren't in the habit of leaving human sacrifices for the object of their affection. I'm pretty sure this guy qualifies." Booth may not have understood anthropology, but he knew criminal profiling.

"Zach, I want photos. Hodgins, you'll be taking samples of the cement. Take them from the outer edges, we don't want to disturb the remains." Cam too charge.

Booth and Bones took their leave, serving no greater purpose at the moment then to clutter up the lab.

"Come on Bones, I'll treat you to lunch. They won't be finished for a while."

Bones looked uncomfortable leaving the remains behind but in her mind admitted that they were no where near ready to extract the skeleton.

"You know," Booth added, "I really don't want you on this case." He was persistent if nothing else.

"Well, I really don't want men to stare at my breasts when I'm doing a book signing, but that's just not in the cards is it?" she replied nonchalantly.

"Bones….did you just make a joke?"


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: As per request, this chapter is a little bit longer than the others. Not by much, but I did get in a bit more character development. I'd have made it longer but sometimes a chapter just reaches a stopping point, and this one reached its quite nicely in my opinion. Reviews would be great. Please and thank you.**

"_**Wright's Fine Cement and Stone Works**_. Based out of Virginia. Known for their Portland Flyash Cement mix, which they use an especially rare type of limestone in. They're the only company with this type of mixture within 800 miles, so they're safe bet for where your stalker got his cement from." When Hodgins was good, he was damn good.

"Excellent," was Bones only reply, " Zach and Cam can get to work on extricating the remains. Zach, as soon as you have those pieces out I want you to start placing the together. Be careful though, we don't know what effect the cement will have had on them. Booth, it appears we're going to Virginia."

Booth was left with that feeling that he could add absolutely nothing to the proceedings. He was relieved to see that Bones was taking this stalker idea seriously. He simply nodded and he and Brennan exited the building, heading for his car. As they got in, Booth raised a question.

"What happened to you? When we first got the remains you weren't exactly scared at the idea of a stalker." Bones considered this for a minutes, her brows drawing together. Booth noticed the little crease that formed between her eyebrows when she was thinking something through. He noted it, memorized it, suppressed a grin, and waited for her answer.

"It's not the idea of having a stalker that scares me. From a physical and security stand point, I have little need to feel threatened. Hand to hand, I'm capable to say the least, and for the majority of my day I'm either accompanied by an FBI agent or working in a heavily secured building. No, what I don't like the idea of is people dying for me. In my name. That's what the message means you know. He is…honoring me, in his mind at least. Someone who I probably didn't even know was turned into a human jigsaw puzzle and for what?" She stopped there, apparently having said all that she needed to say on the subject.

Booth silently took this in. He had about eight different thoughts bouncing around in his head. He was happy that she considered herself safe by his side, as he often had the feeling that he was just along for the ride. He was proud of her for being so brave, but worried she might be too cocky about her safety. He felt a swell of sympathy for her, understanding full well the idea of someone dying for you. They drove in silence for around 20 minutes. It was a comfortable silence despite the topic that it had followed.

"When I was in the army, I commanded around 8 guys in the field at anyone time. As snipers, we were supposed to be invisible. It doesn't take 8 guys to snipe somebody down but they were there for training, learning by doing. We were ambushed. I yelled at them to get back to the extraction point, that we had been compromised. Only 2 made it back to the chopper. As far as I was concerned, all of their blood was on my hands. They had died on my mission. They could have trained at the base. They could've been doing a hundred different things other then help cover my ass while trying to get back t the chopper. Someone dying for you…it doesn't feel good, and it doesn't go away. But it gets better. At least we'll get the guy who killed for you. I never got mine." Booth rarely talked about his days in the army, and Brennan knew he had shared something big with her. She didn't know what to say to that, despite her mind's attempt at calculating an appropriate response. Finally she reached over, placed her left hand over his right and simply said "Thank you Booth." Electricity shot down Booth's arm and into his hand. He could feel every contour of Brenna's warm hand over his, and another small jolt as she pulled it away. He glanced over at her. Her face was solemn, but warm.

"You're welcome." he turned his gaze back to the road. Minutes later they were pulling into a large brick building, the name _**Wright's Fine Cement and Stone Works**_ printed on the side. They entered the building. To their right was a long hallway, which would had led to the factory. To their left was a series of neat looking cubicles, with a number of offices on the far wall. A painfully made up woman sat in as a secretary at a large wooden desk. Bones wondered just how much paint thinner it would take to remove all the eye shadow this woman had on, before shaking the thought from her head, reminding herself how little effect her physical appearance had in here work place capabilities. She smiled as they approached.

"Well hi there! Just one can I help ya'll with today?" she eyed Booth hopefully, showing more teeth as her grin smile threatened to tear her face in two. Booth gave a courteous nod and asked to speak with the head of shipping. The secretary, Geena as her name plate pointed out, let her smile falter a bit.

"Oh I'm sorry, but Joe hasn't been in all week. Called in sick on Monday and we haven't heard from him since. Must be the flu that's been going 'round."

"Do you have an address we could contact him at? I'm afraid it's a matter of some urgency," said Booth. He pulled his jacket aside to reveal his badge. It normally had a way of getting people to follow the program. It just seemed to turn Geena on even more.

"Well," she replied, after a moments thought, "Normally it's against company policy to release employee information but I guess I could make an exception…just this once." She flashed her toothy grin once more.

"Thank you," said Bone, a little forcefully. Whether she had realized it or not, the secretary's fawning was starting to grate her nuts, metaphorically speaking of course. Geena appeared to give her a once over, start to say something, and thought better of it. She pulled out a file from a cabinet behind her and handed it to Booth.

"Joe Ashburn's the guy you're looking for. Real sweetheart," she added with a wink. "His home address and number should be in there. I can't let you take the file of course but I can't really help if you just happen to see the info and jot it down." Bones quickly wrote down the info, noting that her gag reflex was pushing her to get out the door.

"Thank you so much Geena," said Booth, always the gentleman.

"Oh any time sug! You come back now and see us. I'll let you take a look at any of my files you'd like," her reference barely veiled. Bones suppressed the urge to gag on the way out.

Joe Ashburn lived not far from the company, and they made the short drive over. They rang the doorbell about three times to no answer. Booth glanced in the window.

"Bones," he called her over.

"What is it? Not home?" asked Brennan.

"No…but I think I know who that skeleton belongs to."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Sorry it's been a while. School and work kinda have to come first. Enjoy and please review.**

"Looks like a struggle occurred," observed Bones. Through the widow on the front porch they could see into Joe's living room. A once coffee table had been flipped over, sending magazines and a lamp across the floor. The TV had been pulled from its shelf, pulling out the electrical socket with it.

"If Joe got taken, he went down swinging," Booth grimaced. There was a small amount of relief to discovering the possible owner of their skeleton, overshadowed by the fact that their only lead had likely been murdered. "Well," he sighed, "That looks like probable cause to enter if I do say so myself."

He gave the door handle a shake, found it locked, and motioned for Bones to take a step back. He removed his gun, just in case, tensed up, and kicked in the door. The smell hit them like a ton of bricks.

"Oh dear God," Booth gagged. He threw his arm across his nose, though it offered little protection from the rotten order that seemed to infect the house. Bones, who had smelled enough decaying bodies to recognize the smell, still had trouble controlling her gag reflex. It was if the house itself was releasing the smell, surrounding them in it.

A cursory examination of the front dining room and living room confirmed a struggle had occurred. A narrow stair case led upstairs, with what appeared to be a bathroom and master bedroom at the top. It was a bachelor's home, tailored to the needs of a middle aged business man. Neat and tidy, save for the destruction of the front rooms, but ultimately deprived of the female touch.

"Booth, the kitchen," she motioned towards the kitchen at the back of the house, just pass the staircase. The smell's source seemed to be coming from the kitchen, the odor growing stronger as the cautiously made their way to the back of the house. Booth was the first to enter.

"Oh shit," he gagged at the sight before him. He struggled to compose himself when he heard Bones gasp behind him.

As a forensic anthropologist, death and decay were part of her job description. She had witnessed the results of genocides, mass graves, and war. But none of those previous events numbed down what she saw before her. It was just…inhuman. The scientist in her kept her gaze steady, though every natural instinct in her body wanted to her to turn around and walk out of the house.

"Bones!" Booth's voice caused her to drag her eyes away from the scene, meeting Booth's troubled face. "Out! Now!"

"But Booth I need to examine-"

"I said out!" Booth placed his hand on the small of her back and pushed her towards the door. He didn't remove it till they were all the way out on to the porch. They both gulped in fresh air, as if they hadn't dared to breath inside.

"What the hell was that for Booth?" Bones was confused, annoyed, and worried. Booth was normally fairly collected. His outburst threw her off balance.

"I'm…sorry," Booth stumbled, face contorted in an indescribable expression, his gaze not wanting to meet hers. "It's just…I couldn't stand to look at it, and I didn't want you in there with it either. I know it's your job and all but…Jesus Christ," and that was all he could really say on the matter. Bones was grateful in a way. She would have to go in and examine the scene eventually but there was no doubt in her mind that she wasn't far more glad out on the porch then in there.

The scene that had caused them both such disgust was spread throughout the kitchen. A large cooking island had stood in the middle of the room, surprising in a house so small. There was no telling what color it was beneath the near black color of the dried blood. Chunks of flesh were scattered among the island, floor, and stove. Three large pots held bloody water, scarps of flesh floating among them. It had been sitting there for almost a week, rotting, seemingly sealed in the house like a tomb. The killer had left the air on, so the smell was continually vented throughout the house. From what Bones could piece together, the killer had come in, struggled with the victim, killed him, stripped him of as much flesh as he could, removed the bones, and boiled off what was left on them. The bones were the prize he had come for, the ones he left with. She was dragged back into the moment when she heard Booth speak into his phone. He was calling in a team, and commented they would be hear within a half hour. Bones nodded. Booth plopped down on a swing set that was hung outside the house. He didn't seem to have any particular desire to enter the house until the team got here. Bones sat beside him in silent agreement.

……………………………….........................................................................

An hour later a crime scene squad had taken photos of the scene and was in the process of placing all the…pieces…into bags to be brought to the Jeffersonian. The surprise they had brought along with them came in the form of the nerdy, but kind hearted, psychologist Sweets. Booth and Bones exchanged a confused look as he climbed out of his car. He walked up to them, hands shoved in his pockets, a look upon his face similar to that of a little boy caught flipping through his father's porn collection: sheepish, but unable to control himself.

"Sweets," prompted Booth, "I was unaware crime scene teams started carrying around their own psychologist." He wasn't angry, just confused.

"I Know, I know. I have no real business being here, but Cam told me about the call, mentioned the scene was pretty rough, but that you guys were sure it was the victim. I admit that a combination of morbid curiosity and desire to help brought me here." Well, at least he was honest.

"Listen Sweets, we appreciate your desire to help and all but you don't want to go in there," said Booth, motioning towards the house. "There's really not much to do here and the team is cleaning up."

"I appreciate the concern Agent Booth, but if you don't mind I think I could help. Please, if you'd allow me to examine the scene," he let the request hang in the air. Bones was the first to reply.

"I'm sorry Dr. Sweets but your specialty is criminal psychology, if you can call that a specialty. Not crime scene analysis or forensic anthropology. I don't really see what good you can be here." It wasn't said with malice but Booth and Sweets both made little flinched in response to her honesty. If it hadn't been for her harsh words, Booth probably would've kept Sweets out, but despite is outward distaste for him, Booth had grown found of the psychologist. He felt a twinge of pity for him, sighed, and made a move with his hands towards the door as if to say _Go ahead, she's all yours. _

Sweets nodded in gratitude and strode into the house. Only a minute or two later he high tailed it back on the porch where the pair was waiting for him. He breathed in a lungful of air. Booth looked at him with a look close to admiration. He had lasted longer then Booth had expected him to. "Well?" prompted Brennan. She was skeptical Sweets could offer them any real insight into the scene and she often enjoyed being proven correct. This time however, she was left disappointed. Sweets dove into his analysis."Your killer is male, possibly a chef or butcher, young. He's smart, careful, and cold. He's also a good planner.""How good of a planner could he have been?" scoffed Booth, "He didn't exactly try and cover up what he'd done, did he?"

"He didn't have to," responded Sweets, "I'm guessing your team didn't find any fingerprints in the house beyond the victims?" Booth nodded. "That's because he didn't want you to find any. No shoe prints in the blood either. He used the victim's knives, the victim's pot, the victim's house. He left nothing to be traced back to him. The killer even called him in sick, buying him at least a week before anyone would come looking for him. He knew exactly what he was going to do to get the bones before he came in. He sealed the house off before he left, leaving no sign of himself. That seems like good planner to me." He said it with no hint of admiration, the expression on his facing making it seem like the words had left a bad taste in his mouth.

"And the young male part?"

"Well we've agreed that what was done in there was done for Dr. Brennan, a woman, increasing the likelihood our stalker is male. Younger because of the nature of the…dedication. He admires you, and is trying to impress you Dr. Brennan. Plus it would have taken a strong, young man to take down you victim, judging from the pictures I've seen of him." Booth and Brennan nodded. Joe Montelli had stood at about 6'5, a solid block of muscle at 225 pounds. Whoever had taken him down would have had a rough time of it.

Brennan had a sour expression etched across her face. Booth picked up on it immediately. "What is it?" he placed his hand carefully on her shoulder.

"That," she replied, pointing back in the house, where multiple body bags were being removed from. "Sweets is right…that was for me." Her often strong, logical composure was cracking with feelings of guilt.

"No," Booth said quickly, forcefully, moving to put his arm around her. "What was done in there, that was for _him_. Not you. He got the pleasure out of it. He's the one getting kicks out of killing someone to toy with you. He doesn't admire you. He doesn't _love_ you. Whatever he's doing, he isn't doing for you. It's all for him." Booth spoke softly, his words easing the tension in Brennan's shoulders. She didn't move to shrug off his arm, and he didn't either. She nodded, allowing the words to bring her a temporary comfort. She hung her head and leaned into Booth.

Sweets gazed at the two of them, his face a mixture of pity, care, and a little smirk of knowing.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Sorry for the wait here. I finally have a little free time so I thought a little update would be a good idea. It's not terribly long, but it'll keep the story going. Enjoy and review.**

"Our only lead is dead…awesome," Bones normally had a rough time of catching Booth's sarcasm but this time it came in a loud and clear.

"At least we know who the victims was," piped in Angela. The team stood around the pile of flesh that until about a week ago had been named Joe. "We can tell his family."

"His only family is a sister down in Florida. She's been contacted," the day had taken its toll on Booth, and he pinched the bridge of his nose, mentally attempting to push back the headache he knew was coming.

"I hate to say it, but Sweets was right," Brennan stood between the two tables, one containing the flesh, and on containing the bones. "This guy is…smart. NO finger prints in the cement, the house, or on the bones. He managed to leave the bones in pristine condition, not so much as a knick from one of he knives." Her tone held no admiration, just the sound of someone who knows when they're brains have been topped, a rare sound for someone like Temperance.

"He's good, but he's not better than us," Booth moved towards her, an internal battle going on in his mind of how much he could comfort her in front of the team without raising a few eyebrows. "We have a team of the best scientists in the United States here, and Angela."

"Hey!"

"Joking," he turned back to Bones, "You don't really think they've found nothing out do you?"

"No," sighed Brennan. She had to have some degree of faith in her team. "I suppose not."

"Great!" Booth clapped a hand down on her shoulder, oddly like he would with someone he was playing hockey with. He turned toward the team. "So tell me what you know."

Zach was the first to step forward. "From what we can see, based on the different levels of bruising and bleeding on the different sections of flesh, the body was cut up in stages. Some sections of fat were specifically removed first, the tendons cut, then the…meat. It appears that this man was quite literally butchered." A collective shiver rand own the spines of the team. Cam piped in next.

"We were able to identify certain sections of the flesh, and the neck tissue so signs of bruising. Our victim was strangled before this," she motioned to each table, "happened to him."

"Thank God for small favors," breathed Booth.

"I doubt that's what the victim did," replied Bones. The whole God thing just wasn't going to happen with her. Booth gave an internal shrug. He coped his way, she coped hers. Then he remembered their favorite shared coping method. "Bones, we're getting a drink. You guys…it's been a long day. Go home and get some rest. Will start up again in the morning." The team breathed a collective sigh of relief. Except for Bones.

"But we can't go," she shot at Booth, "He'll do it again, there's no signs he won't. We can't just sit here and wait for another victim to turn up."

"And what else do you propose we do? The only person we had to question turned out to be our victim. We know he ran the sales and shipments of cement the killer used but we can't get his customer list till tomorrow. We can't just sit here and wait for the body to give us a clue it doesn't have. It's been a long day, and you need to rest. You can't let him do this to you." Booth was backing towards the door of the lab and Bones was unconsciously following him.

"I suppose you're right. I need to be fresh to catch him."

"Exactly," said Booth, breaking into a smile, "Which is we will go to your place, have a drink to calm down, and I will crash on your couch." He rushed the last part, hoping Brennan wouldn't catch it. Of course she did.

"What? Why do you need to stay at my apartment? I promise I won't let you drink enough to impair your ability to get home."

"There is a man stalking you and killing in your name and you think you're staying by yourself? No, no, no, no, no. Not happening. It's either me on your couch or two muscley agents outside your door all night. Your choice."

"Muscley isn't a word, but I suppose I'll take the lesser or two evils."

Booth stopped in his tracks. "That's me right?"

Bones kept on walking.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Sorry for the long update time but school doesn't exactly lend itself to giving you time to do everything you want to. I made this one for all my fellow Booth/Bones shippers out there to help make up for it. Reviews are not just appreciated but encouraged.**

"This is so wholly unnecessary," Bones said as they approached her doorway.

"Yeah but where would be the fun in it if it was something we _had_ to do?" Bones had no particular answer for him, at least none that would have made much sense. She shrugged, turned her key and opened her apartment. The layout hadn't changed much since the last time Booth had been there. A new fridge to replace the one that had attempted to blow him up, and a new TV.

"Thought you weren't much for television," he said, gesturing towards the new addition.

"I like to keep up with the news. Plus the last time you were here you made it out to be a crime not to have one. So there it is. Happy?" she had sounded much more short then she intended to, but the day was pushing down on her. A stalker, a body, and Booth insisting on his presence for her protection was a lot to handle. Not that she minded his presence. Quite the opposite really. Chances are they'd be hanging out together anyway, just in a bar or at the diner.

"You didn't have to get a TV Bones. You never do anything wrong, except with the occasional social situation." She didn't take this as an insult. She knew that there were some places in polite society that she just didn't quite fit. Booth didn't mind that about her. He wasn't a very social guy beyond his hockey team, and of course with Brennan.

But since you did get a TV, it'd be a shame not to use," Booth added as he did an odd sort of leap on to Bone's couch. His hand fumbled around the cushions till he found the remote and instantly went to Sports Center. Then a small jolt went across his face and he hit mute. "Sorry about that. The lady of the house should get to choose what we watch." If Booth had violated some sort of faux pas , it sailed past Brennan. She shrugged. "Whatever you'd like, I honestly don't know what channels I have." She placed herself at the opposite end of the couch and leaned back, as though she were waiting for Booth to magically make something entertaining appear on the TV.

They went back and forth, Booth wanting an action film, Brennan wanting 60 Minutes. Finally Booth left the channel on the movie The Bone Collector, thinking it was fairly apropos. What he hadn't anticipated was Brennan's inability to not point out all the factual errors of the film.

"It's called suspended disbelief Bones. Can you please just go with it?" She would have protested if it hadn't been for the slightly pleading look on his face. She sighed, and relaxed her posture. She was where she was, and she decided to try and enjoy it. She allowed herself to get into the story a bit more and by the end of the movie was half pinned to Booth, clinging to a pillow with one hand. Denzel Washington knew how to suspense apparently. Booth just sat there with a bemused expression on his face, and allowed his arm to wrap around her waist and hold her there.

They switched over to the news after the movie. Booth, being the gentleman he was, didn't demand any praise for having chosen a movie she ended up enjoying. He simpl sat there and let Stone Phillips or Katie Couric or whoever was on rattle along about the days high lights. He didn't watch the news often. Every night seemed to be summed up the same "Times are tough, crime is up, the market is down, and the weather won't be what you want it to be."

He listened to the sound of Brennan's breathing, growing ever steadier by the minute. At around 11:30 she was sleeping the kind of sleep reserves for people who had seen one more mutilated body that day than they had intended to. For a few minutes he didn't move. He didn't want to wake her, and he enjoyed the feeling of someone against him. Whether it was in love or friendship didn't matter, because, in his mind, sometimes it was nice to just have a warm body next to you, tying you to someone else, if only for a few minutes. He knew they couldn't stay in that position all night so he slid his arms from her ever so gently and slowly pulled his body up from the couch. He wrapped on under around her waist and one beneath her shoulders and as slowly as he could manage, pulled her body up to his. He called it a success when she didn't wake and his back didn't pull itself into some ungodly position.

He walked her to her room and led her carefully laid her out on her bed. He pulled up her dark green covers up to her shoulders and drew his hand gently across her face. She shifted lightly in her shift, and her cheek flushed red. He smiled to himself and went to back to the couch to wait for a peaceful sleep that would never come.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: OK, I'm trying to be more regular on the updates. I hope to see some reviews in return :] Since the last one was my own little dip into Booth/Bones fluff land, this one is a bit more story development. Enjoy. R/R**

Booth spent most of the night wide awake, staring at the ceiling. He wasn't tired, quite the opposite. He was hyper aware of everything around him: Brennan's steady breathing in the room next to his, the sound of a clock ticking in the kitchen, and the silence coming from her outside hallway. He jerked anytime he thought that silence was disturbed. It was a rare thing that any member of the team was put into such direct danger from a case. Not unheard of, but still not something that sat well with him. He sighed, rolled over, and closed his eyes.

Some time later he opened them, and had to take a second to remember where he was. He had himself one of those weird moments where the only reason you think you got any sleep is because you just woke up. He leaned back and pinched the bridge of his nose the way people often do when they're frustrated. He wasn't going to really be able to relax until the case was over. He heard Bones moving around in the kitchen, slapped on a more relaxed face, and pulled himself off of the couch.

Bones was cooking something, bacon and eggs from the smell of it, and humming some indiscriminate tune under her breath. _She must be a morning person_, Booth thought. She turned to him, nodded a good morning, and handed him a cup of coffee.

"Get much sleep last night?" she asked.

"Yeah, slept like a log!" Booth hoped he wasn't over doing it. Bones was worried enough with the stalker. She didn't need to be thinking about his sleeping habits.

"Booth, I was wondering…if you don't mind me asking….are you happy?" She put a plate of food in front of him but his eyes stayed on her face.

"Well there's a question out of left field," he pondered for a moment.

"What field?"

"Doesn't matter Bones. Just a figure of speech. Well…yeah, at the moment, I think I'm happy with my life. I've got a good job, a good kid, a good partner," he nudged her ribs and smiled. "It's not perfect. I'm not happy about this case in particular but like Einstein said, 'It's all relative' right?"

"Einstein was referring to the interaction of space and time, but I think I see what you're saying," she nodded, thinking to herself.

"What's with the philosophical questions this early in the morning Bones? Normally you don't get around to those till…well you never really have philosophical questions."

"I don't know. Suppose the case is…getting into my head," she seemed to shake off some unpleasant thought before joining back into the conversation. "Eat your breakfast. People are more productive if they've eaten a high protein breakfast."

"Sure Bones…whatever you say." It wasn't until Booth was cleaning his plate in the sink that he got a call from Cam. They had another victim.

* * *

Booth and Bones pulled up to the scene, a park on the outskirts of DC, on an unassuming Sunday morning. There was an inner battle going on in both of them. Booth didn't want Bones here, or anywhere near a place that the stalker had been, but knew she was needed on the case. Bones thoughts were of a similar nature, but she was reaching a far different conclusion They stepped out of the car and into the early morning heat. Cam was already on the scene. Normally she didn't come straight to a scene, but this case was more personal, and she couldn't help but be more involved.

"How bad?" said Booth.

"He's getting…chatty," said Cam. Booth flinched, knowing what more words meant.

"Let's get this over with."

They walked up to the scene, a sidewalk bordering a pond. One square at the very end of the sidewalk was taped off. Booth saw it first.

"Oh hell," Booth breathed. Bones stayed silent, though her calm face was cracking.

The stone read: _I Never knew how to worship until I knew how to love._


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: It's short I know, but I'm honestly not one hundred percent sure where the story is going. But it wouldn't be fair to not update for a whole week because I'm too lazy to think of a whole plot. So here is a short, but important, chapter. Review please: It might help me find out what the hell is going on.**

Bones was quiet as she took pictures of the cement block. The message was formed in the same fashion as the previous one. The bones has been broken into smaller pieces this time in order to form the longer message.

"Henry Ward Beecher," she said suddenly.

"John Wilkes Booth!….I don't know what we're doing," Booth was trying to lighten the situation, but he was genuinely confused.

"It's who the quote is from. He was an abolitionist. He was accused of having an affair with a married woman. The trial for it was one of the most popularized trials of the 19th century."

"Awesome history lesson, but why him?"

"Doesn't matter. I suppose he was trying to make an impact on me."

"And?"

"He's got me extremely on edge if that was his desired effect." She took a few last photos and waved the team in to pack the body up.

"I'll drive back with Cam and meet you at the lab," she told Booth. An expression of confusion went across his face but he merely nodded. They always drove back together. The simple separation from her during the case put him ill at ease. He shot a glance to Cam, a glance that said "make sure she gets back to the lab in one piece". She nodded once and went with Bones to her car. He met them both again in the Jeffersonian's parking structure, and a ball of tension in his stomach began to unwind itself. They were almost to the elevators when Bones halted.

"Shoot, Dr. Saroyan may I have your keys? I left the camera in the backseat of your car. I'm sorry but I spaced and didn't think-"

"Hey, it's fine," Came said, tossing her the keys, "You're under a lot of stress. The camera's not going anywhere." Booth moved as the to walk her back to the car but the look on her face told him to back off a bit. As she had already agreed to let him guard her apartment until her stalker was caught, he decided not to push his luck. Cam and Booth made their way up to the lab.

Booth didn't think much of her absence for the first 10 minutes or so. But then the clock kept ticking. She'd been gone for nearly 20 minutes now, more than enough time to retrieve a camera.

"Cam, where is she?" he asked cautiously, hopefully.

"You means she's not back yet?" an odd expression formed on her face.

"No, and I'm going down to find her. Hodgins, you're coming with me." Something inside the male brain seemed to think that the idea of having an extra penis involved could help solve any situation. Hodgins jerked up from his station, trying to hide the fact that he had been eaves dropping on the whole conversation.

"Coming," he said, and jogged off with Booth to the elevator. On the way down, Booth removed his gun.

"Am I going to need one of those?" asked Hodgins, slightly freaked out.

"Probably not."

"Can I have one anyway?"

"No." With that, the elevator doors pulled open. Booth did a quick sweep outside the door then took off at a quick pace towards where Cam had parked her car. The space was empty.

"Did she take off?" asked Hodgins.

"No," replied Booth, barely above a whisper.

"What makes you say-oh." Hodgins saw it on the ground. The torn handle strap of Bone's camera bag, lying in a small puddle of blood.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: I'm SOOOOOO sorry for the long update time but finals are a bitch. I think I've got an idea where I'm going with the story but let's see. Reviews are appreciated and encouraged.**

_No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no,, no, she's fine, she's fine, she's fine, she's fine, she's fine. She was just here. She's not gone. I'm going to go upstairs and she'll be there, _Booth ran through the words over and over again. He didn't believe them but God, he _**wanted**_ to.

"Booth," said Hodgins, sounding panicked. "Agent Booth!" Booth realized it wasn't the first time. He met Hodgins's gaze for the first time it what seems like an eternity. "Where is she?" he asked. Booth looked defeated when he replied.

"Gone." He clasped his hands behind his head and doubled over. He groaned, slowly and painfully. "I should've gone with her. Why would I let her go? I know she asked but I should have ignored her."

"Hey, hey, hey. This isn't your fault," Hodgins slapped him on the back once, knowing his words were falling on deaf ears. "Booth, we need to tell the others. We need to contact the FBI and get a team to go after her."

Booth knew what he was saying made sense, and that he should be moving, acting. But all of a sudden, he felt very, very alone, and very, very small. He had last seen her, what, a half and hour ago? Why hadn't he come down sooner? What had she looked like? What was the last thing she even said to him? He was kicking himself while he was down, until some of Hodgins words caught in his mind. Jus because she was gone, didn't make mean she was dead. Not yet anyway. He snapped up and wordlessly marched back to the elevator. Hodgins struggled to keep up with him, the door almost closing before he could get in. They rode in silence, and hit the lab floor running.

"She's gone!" Booth yelled. He didn't want to repeat himself. The team stood there looking shell shocked.

"What do you mean gone?" Angela asked. Apparently Booth was going to repeat himself anyway.

"Brennan and her car are gone. Hodgins's and I found the handle from her camera bag and a puddle of blood in her space." His voice was grim, and rushed.

"Oh God, no." Angela looked like she was on the verge of tears. Zach sat in silence, his face blank. Cam looked conflicted, and in pain.

"Cam!" Booth called, jerking her out of her trance. "I want you to call Agent Matthews at the FBI, tell him what's happened. I want a team here within the next twenty minutes. Zach, Hodgins: I want you to tell me everything you can figure out about those bones. I want to find our killer and I want to do it fast. Angela: just don't have a breakdown." They all stood there, frozen between what had just happened and what they need to do. "Now!" Booth clapped his hands together, and they all began to move.

Booth made his way back down to the parking garage. The moment the elevator doors closed, he allowed his legs to collapse out from under him. He closed his eyes and felt the blood pound in his ears. Something inside him just felt broken. He thought about the puddle of blood waiting for him in the parking garage and could taste bile in the back of his throat. This wasn't what was _supposed_ to happen. She was never supposed to be in any real danger. But life had hit him like a ton of bricks, and all he could do was breath shallow breaths, swallow back the taste in his mouth, and wait for the FBI to arrive on scene.

* * *

"What do you mean there are no security tapes?!" The agent winced. Everyone in the department knew how attached Booth was to Bones. He had chosen a squint over another agent for his partner. Any other squint and Booth would have never lived it down. The agent had draw3n the short stick, and was the one that got to deliver the bad news.

"The parking garage doesn't have any security cameras beyond the entrance and the elevator doors," he repeated. "The last images we have of Dr. Brennan is this video of Dr. Brennan, Dr. Saroyan, and you by the elevators."

He pointed to the small screen in the back of the FBI van. On the screen, in black and white, Booth could see himself and the two women. There was no sound but he remembered what was said quite clearly. Bones said she'd be back quickly, patted Booth quickly on the arm in response to his sour expression, and they turned back to the elevators. Watching it, Booth could almost feel Bone's hand reach out and touch his arm. His skin seemed to burn beneath his shoot, raising goose bumps where her hand would have touched him. He watched the tape three more times.

"Alright," he said finally. "I want a copy of this tape in my office by the end of the day. We're done here."

He moved quickly to the crime scene team gathered around the blood and camera strap. He motioned towards the head investigator.

"Tell me what happened here," he requested impatiently.

"Well there's not much we can tell without tapes or further evidence. The blood was fresh, maybe lying there for five to ten minutes before you got down here." Booth clenched inside. Five minutes. Five minutes earlier and he could have stopped Bones form being taken. "There was an anomaly with the camera strap. It appears that it was cut, not torn, from the bag. The edge is far to clean, and far to tough, for anyone to pull apart, even in a struggle. ""That doesn't make any sense," said Booth, confused. "Why would he take the time to slice off the handle. If he had a knife wouldn't he have held it to her…you know," he motioned towards his throat, not wanting to say the words.

"I'm not a criminologist Agent Booth. I just collect the evidence. I'm sorry." He gave Booth a look of pity that he had been receiving from a number of his fellow agents. It was as if they all knew what he was going through. But they couldn't. How could they? In a part of his mind that Booth didn't recognize, he refused to believe that a single man among them cared for anybody the way he cared for Bones. And not even from a sexual perspective. Bones was so much a part of him. This view wasn't exactly fair to the other agents, whose lives Booth knew so little about, but in his mind it was some sort of universal truth that Bones was the most important aspect of his life, second only to his own son. And even that was a close second.

Booth went back upstairs dejectedly. The team sat waiting for him, each person with looks of various pain and discomfort.

"Please say one of you has something good to tell me," Booth asked, his eyes pleading. The room was silent, though they all seemed to shift towards Zach, It took a minute for Zach to realize the attention was drawn towards me.

"Oh yes. I suppose the briefing is my job at the moment." He usually waited for Dr. Brennan's signal to begin, and felt ill at ease in doing so without her. He stepped towards the table. The cement block had been cracked and pulled away from the bones. The bones themselves had been carefully reassembled back into the original message. Booth hadn't noticed before that inside the "O" of the word "love" there rested a single blue crystal in the shape of a tear drop. He recognized it immediately from a necklace belonging to she hadn't worn in a number of months. He reached out and placed one finger on the crystal, memorized its shape and feel, and withdrew his hand just as quickly. Zach began to speak.

"In this case, the bones were far more broken apart in order to form the longer message. That meant there were a greater number of cuts. The bone cutting tool would have to be incredibly sharp, and incredibly tough to do this kind of job. And wielded by someone who was strong, and knew what they were doing. I examined each cut that was made to fracture the bones. While the majority of them were completely clean, there were a couple that I gained particulates from. My guess is that the knife that was used wasn't entirely clean to begin with, leaving a few traces of particles on the very first cuts he made."

"And?" Booth urged him to continue. "What kind of particles are we talking about here?"

Zach hesitated, and then decided to speak anyway.

"Cow."

"Excuse me?" Booth was sure he had heard incorrectly.

"There were traces of cow flesh dried deep within the striations left by the cuts. I think are stalker is a butcher. Not of people, but an actual butcher."

Everything seemed to click for Booth. The way the flesh had been cut away from the first body, they cleaning method of the bones before they ware taken, the choice of weapons.

"But what good does this do me?" asked Booth, thinking aloud. There's probably a thousand butchers within a two hundred mile radius of here. I can exactly interrogate each one to find out who was a fan of Bones's novels." He would, without complaint, but it would take time. Time they didn't have.

"That's where I have some good news," Zach perked up. "I can tell you where the cows came from."

"I'm scared to ask this, but how the hell can you figure that out?"

"Despite the recent availability of certain all natural meats, many cattle farms still rely heavily on foods filled with hormones to beef up their cows before killing them."

"No pun intended," commented Hodgins dryly.

"I beg your pardon?" asked Zach, looking slightly confused.

"Never mind, doesn't matter," said Hodgins with a wave of his hand.

"Right. I, well Hodgins really, analyzed the flesh particulates left in the bones."

"And?" said Booth, waiting for them to do their big reveal. Hodgins stepped forward.

" I found heavy doses of Zeranol and Trenbolone in the meat. They're artificial growth hormones. There's a large farm out in Virginia that uses them in these sort of doses."

"How large?"

"Big, but they mainly deal in Virginia and down into the south. There's only three butchers in the DC area they deliver to."

"Alright," said Booth, relieved to be getting somewhere. "I can just bring all their employees in for questioning and we'll find Bones." He looked about ready to blot for the door.

"I may be able to narrow down that search for you Agent Booth," piped up Zach. "I took a cross section of the striations left on them meat. If the killer made the mistake of using his own knives, then I may know which butcher you should be looking at."

"Where Zach?"

"They blade used on these bones is used in only one butcher shop throughout the city. O'Leary's Meats on Carnegie Street and Fifth Avenue."

Booth was already sprinting towards the door.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: First off I'm sorry for the long update time. I have the shitty excuse of having gone on a vacation, in which I had no desire to even look at a computer. So here's the new chapter that is long owed to all of you. I also want to apologize for some god awful spelling and grammar mistakes made in the last chapter. I abhor proof reading but I'll try and keep a closer eye on things next time. Reviews are good.**

O'Leary's Meats resided in a large brick building in the south of DC. It had a storefront as a regular butcher, and the rest of the building was converted into an essentially huge freezer. It had about eight people working in any one shift, including the manager Mike O'Leary, founder and operator. This was the information Booth was filled in on along the way there. None of it mattered much to him, other than which of those employees was Brennan's stalker. They were pulling up to the butcher in a matter of minutes, having broken a number of speed limits and traffic laws on the way there. Hodgins had insisted on coming along. Ever since the incident in the parking garage, he just felt…_invested_.

"Booth, maybe I should do the talking in there. You could go…check things out, talk to some employees?" Hodgins asked carefully.

"Not happening Jack. You're the squint. I'm the FBI agent. I ask the questions."

"Be that as it may, you are also the guy who has been biting off everyone's head off at the drop of a hat." Booth turned and glared at him for a moment. "Tell me I'm wrong man!" Hodgins exclaimed after a beat of silence. Booth shrugged, knowing Hodgins was right.

"I'm going to ask the questions. I'll let you comes in. I'll try not to bite anyone's head off."

"Fair enough," Hodgins relented. They parked into front of the building, and decided on going into the store front first. A tall burly man around 55 years of age was manning the counter.

"Are you Mike O'Leary?" Booth prompted.

"Yes I am. What can I do for you?" O'Leary was from Boston, and his southie accent caused "you" to come out as "ya" Booth flipped out his badge, and O'Leary straightened noticeably.

"I'm Special Agent Booth with the FBI. I'm going to go ahead and make a long story short here by telling you that we are in the middle of a murder investigation, and we have evidence that points back to your business as the origin of the murder weapon."

"Way to ease into Booth," Hodgins muttered. Booth ignored him. O'Leary sighed, looking very tired.

"Look, I got nothin to hide. Take a look in back if you'd like."

"We'll do that. But first, have any of your employees been acting suspicious lately? Taking odd hours off work?"

"Not that I can think of. Only thing that comes to mind his Lewis Owens. He's one of my best guys, but he rolled in a couple hours late last Tuesday, looking a little worse for the wear. Said he's been in a car accident, and he was driving a rental. He's a pretty dependable guy so I didn't think to much of it."

"Owens here now?"

"Yeah he picked up an extra shift today. He'll be in the back. Carving station." He jerked his thumb towards the door behind him. Booth nodded and moved to the door.

"Stay here Hodgins. Watch for anyone trying to make a break for it." Hodgins waved his hand in agreement, though how he was going to stop anyone from leaving, he didn't really know.

Booth made his way into the back part of the building, following the grinding sounds being made by the hand held saws used to slice apart large pieces of meat. There were only two men at work at a large metal table. One was short, thick, and in his mid-forties. The other one Booth recognized as Owens by the healing cuts on his face. He was young, maybe 24, with steady hands and darting eyes. He saw Booth coming and flicked off the saw. Booth approached slowly and put his hand beneath his coat, allowing it to rest on his gun.

"Lewis Owens? I'm Special Agent Booth with the FBI. Just wanted to ask you some questions." Owens stared at him, not speaking, for a good ten seconds. The, calm as you please, he bolted. He shoved a rib cage he had been working on forward, then shot toward the large open loading bays located near the store front. Booth moved after him, wondering to himself why they always choose to run. He was worried when Owens leapt from the building a full fifteen paces ahead of him. He reached the loading bay just in time to see Hodgins shoot out of the store front, sprint after Owens, and tackle him squarely around the waist.

Hodgins was not the most imposing man around the lab. He had kind eyes, a jew fro, and a less then impressive height. But the dude was actually kind of ripped. Years with a diminutive stature had taught him that what he lacked in height, he could make up for in muscle and speed. Which is how Owens was brought to the ground with a gasp as 165 pounds of scientist landed on top of him. Unfortunately, Hodgins was a bit over zealous, and took pleasure it ramming Owens's head into the ground, effectively rendering him unconscious. Booth jogged up a moment later, checked Owens's pulse, and breathed a sigh of release when he felt it beating fast but steady. He glared at Hodgins.

"You realize that we're going to have to wait for him to wake up now right?" Booth growled. Hodgins looked down at Owens, then back to Booth.

"Yeah," he conceded. "But it felt _really_ good."


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: I know it's been a ridiculously long time since I posted. But I just did 7 weeks in Europe and had no desire to type or think or pretty much do anything but look at stuff. Haha. Here's a new chapter, very long time coming. Review please.**

The first things Owens felt was a hammer pounding in the front of his skull. A jackhammer, mercilessly thrumming a way. His eyes still closed, he reached his hand up to where he felt the hammer and felt something he knew was dried blood. He opened his eyes a crack, saw the bright fluorescent lights and squeezed them shut again. He took a moment to evaluate his situation: he had been knocked unconscious and was currently handcuffed to a metal chair._ Shit _was the thought that came to his mind. He pried his eyes open once more and held them open. Seated in front of him was tall man, short hair, strong jaw, and a ruefully pissed looked on his face, He recognized him, just not from where. The agent spoke.

"Morning sunshine. Sleep well?" Not what he'd expected to hear.

"Huh?"

"Well you've been asleep for a good five hours now. Inconvenient for me but I won't say you didn't deserve it. Your head will be fine by the way."

"Agent Booth?" The name had floated to the front Owens's mind.

"Oh good, Hodgins didn't damage your memory too bad. That's especially going to help me out for what I'm looking for." He leaned in and stared at Owens, unblinking.

"And what, pray tell, are you looking for?" Despite his current condition, Owens gave of an air of superiority that made Booth want to slam his head into the table.

"Not what. Who. I'm looking for Dr. Brennan." A smile spread across Owens's face, as if he was recalling a fond memory.

"Ah, Tempe. She's gotten my messages then?"

"I should say so. Practically made her throw up when she saw them, and that's quite a feat I promise you." Owens's brow furrowed.

"Throw up? But they were gifts. Meant to please her. They were everything she could want: Human remains, a mystery, adoration. Perhaps you misunderstood her reaction. There are very few people who understand her.""Let me guess, you think you're one of those people?"

"Oh I know I am. But I'm confused Agent Booth. You seem to think I know where she is. That is hardly the case." Booth's jaw tightened.

"What do you mean that's not the case? We tracked you down. It was your knives that were used on the second victim."

"Oh I knew it was only a matter of time until Tempe figured it out. Though I admit I'm a little disappointed she didn't come to get me herself."

"It wasn't her that figured it out, it was the guy who rammed your head into the ground, a task I'm sure I could convince him to do again. And what part of 'Where is Temperance Brennan' don't you understand? We thought…we were sure…you had her." The last part he seemed to say to himself.

"Oh no Agent Booth, to take Tempe for myself…" he shook his head, as if the idea were preposterous to him, "…I could never. To even be in the same room as her. Why…I don't know what I'd do with myself. Even when I watched her...when I collected her things...it was always from afar." Something had lit up behind his eyes, a kind of maniacal flame, obsessed and determined.

"You're a real sick bastard, you know that?" Booth didn't bother hiding his contempt. "Two people dead, their bones scraped of flesh and arranged into twisted messages of adoration. What is it with guys like you? Were you just born without some piece of humanity, or did some switch get flicked somewhere down the line? Did mommy drink? Did daddy touch you in a bad place? What's your excuse?"

Owens chuckled to himself

"Oh you would never understand. It's love. True love. Complete and total dedication to her. A desire to know that she's thought about you that day. That your name has crossed her mind, passed through her lips. When you notice everything from the length of her eyelashes to the way her hair falls on her shoulders. That is all I feel towards Temperance Brennan. You could never understand the sort of things you'll do for a love like that." He had barely looked up at Booth's face when he felt a fist slam into the left side of his face. He felt a couple of his teeth go loose. He slowly lifted his head back up. Booth was flexing his right hand.

"There are very few things in this world I feel I have a complete understanding of Mr. Owens, but I do understand that murder and obsession in no way equal love and affection. You followed Brennan around for months, stealing from her, marking her every movement. You didn't do it out of love, you did it out of your own sick loneliness, or maybe some disease in you brain. I don't know and I don't care. But don't you dare think for one second that you love Temperance. Not one." Owens stared at Booth's face for a few moments, then shrugged as if he hadn't said a thing, as if he hadn't punched him in the face.

"At any rate Agent Booth, I do not know where Dr. Brennan is. But I do know that I do not have her in my…possession." Booth didn't speak for almost a minute. He simply stared at Owens, breathing heavily. Then with a jolt, he sat up and walked out of the room. Hodgins sat staring back into the room through the one-way glass.

"You think he's telling the truth?" Hodgins asked. Reluctantly, Booth replied.

"Yes…but I wish he wasn't."


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: OK so the mini tantrum of maglio3118 has encouraged me to finally update this. Maybe some of you will hate where I take this story, maybe you'll like it. Read and review either way. I'm also looking for a beta if anyone's interested.  
**

"Why can't we charge him with kidnapping anyway?" asked Angela for the third time. "I mean we know he killed those other two people, probably molested them or something freaky like that before he killed them, and he stalked Brennan. No judge wouldn't consider it a possibility."

Booth sighed and fell back into a chair in the lab. The team hadn't taken the news that Owens was not the kidnapper well.

"Possible isn't actual. Besides….I don't think it was him. You didn't hear the way this guy talked about her. Like a college art student talks about the Mona Lisa. Worshipping, admiring, but they wouldn't dare try to paint it themselves." Booth closed his eyes and pressed his head against the glass tabletop. "I really wanted it to be him." Cam patted his shoulder.

"We all did Booth. But that doesn't mean we can't still find her kidnapper. Doesn't the FBI normally give disappearances a three days period before they say finding a person becomes unlikely?"

"Yeah something like that." Booth didn't sound the least bit reinsured. Zach had remained quiet throughout the whole discussion, an expression etched across his face as if he were working out a difficult logic problem. Suddenly he stood and spoke up.

"What if she wasn't kidnapped?" He was met with four pairs of confused eyes.

"You want to run that one by me again there Zach?" asked Booth.

"Well we've been spending all our efforts here looking for Dr. Brennan's kidnapper based on the assumption that she was, in fact, kidnapped. But there's no solid proof of that. We have the security tapes proving she left for Dr. Saroyan's car by herself, her camera bag handle, and a small puddle of blood. With the exception of the cut, not torn, strap, it all points in the direction of kidnapping, I grant you, but Dr. Brennan always discouraged us from making leaps based off insufficient evidence."

"So you're telling me that Bones sliced her won body, tore off her camera bag handle, and stole Cam's car? For what? Why would she want us to think she was kidnapped?"

Zach's face again took on its confused look.

"I'm not comfortable making any leaps as to why right now."

"Then be uncomfortable. Come one Zach, why?" Booth was looking more frustrated by the minute.

"It's just…maybe it's not us that she wanted to believe she'd been kidnapped. Maybe it was the killer."

Upon hearing the words, something clicked in Booth's head. Every time Bones had spoken of how angry and disgusted she was that the killings were happening in her honor, he's written them off as natural responses to the situation. But he should have known Bones better. He should have known that her mind worked like one long drawn out math equation. And her response to being stalked and worshipped would be to simply take herself out of the equation.

"Ah hell," groaned Booth.

"What? You know where she is?" asked Angela.

"No, but I've got a pretty good idea."

* * *

"I should've know you'd come here."

Bones jolted from the couch, a look of mild surprise on her face.

"You should've known I'd come to my own apartment? That's not a normal place for kidnappers to hide their victims." She was thorwn by the incredible sadness on Booth's face.

"It is when you kidnap yourself. You knew that the FBI would search your apartment, look for clues, and that would be it. You were 'taken' in a parking garage, not your apartment. And only the worst kidnapper on earth would take his victim back to their own house. And you knew that. You drove around Dc for a few hours, laid low, and when you were sure the FBI was done with you apartment, you snuck back in."

"I thought it would take you a while longer to figure it out. Which was a good thing. The longer you spent thinking the stalker had me, the quicker you would find him."

"That theory doesn't really work for most kidnapping cases Bones. Hardly any of them in fact." His hands were shoved in his pockets and he leaned agaist the door fram of her living room. He made no move to get closer to her.

"But I've worked with you. I know what you're capable of. If there was anyone who I'd trust to fnd him, it was you."

"While your trust doesn't exactly make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, you should know that we caught him. His name is Lewis Owens. He works at a butcher shop in town. He's a big fan of the books."

Of all the greetings Bones had anticipated upon Booth's finding of her, the cold dry humor did not facotr in. It left her feeling slightly annoyed.

"I just want to know why you did it Bones? We could've done it with you. Hell we might have even done it faster. You didn't need to do this."

"The tributes Owens left me were based on his desire for me to see them. if he thought I was gone, if I wasn't around to find them, he might stop." Booth nodded his head, as it confirmed what he had thought in the lab earlier.

"You still didn't have to do it. You have no idea what you put me through."

No Bones was kind of pissed.

"_I_ have no idea? I don't know what you went through? Booth, you let me and the rest of the team at the Jeffersonian spend a week thinking you were dead after being shot by your own stalker! You had to deal with a day. I had seven. _That_ is hell. I'd say we're more than even now."

Booth had spent half of her speech staring at her arm as she waved it in the air. A thick white bandage was covering the outside of her forearm. Bones saw where he was looking and instinctively covered her hand over the bandage.

"I thought the blood would make it more convincing. I cleaned the cut. It will heal fine."

For the first time since he'd foudn her on her couch, Booth moved. He walked over to her and held up her arm. Very carefully, he peeled back the bandage. Along her forearm there was four inch cut ending at her elbow. The angry red line was puckered and healing, despite being no more tha a day old. Booth traced his finger along side it, as if he were trying to memorize it. Then, just as gently as he'd taken it off, he replaced the wrapping and looked into Bone's eyes. She still couldn't understand the sad expression on his face.

"You know," she started, "I don't regret-" She was cut off as Booth's lips pressed into hers.


End file.
